


Trapped

by succculent_horror (Voyaelm)



Series: Self Indulgence [2]
Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Anal Sex, Blood and Injury, Drugging, Dubious Consent, M/M, Revenge, Stitches, Torture, basically just fucked up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-10-21
Packaged: 2019-10-24 13:32:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17705180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voyaelm/pseuds/succculent_horror
Summary: After all these years, it’s finally happened! He has Strade right where he wants him... but can he keep him there?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Y’know, it may take me half a year to write something new, but that’s what happens when you’re a dumbass

‘What are you thinking?’ It flies through Ren’s head at Mach speed, too dizzying to think about for long. But, time goes by so slow when he had the idea, and slower yet when he executes it.

Strade had some work to do down in his shop, so he took his lunch down there, which wasn’t unusual. That took care of Ren's fear of needing him downstairs. But, it was still too much. If Strade realized what he had put in it. If he tasted the absolutely absurd amount of crushed sleeping pills… He was fucked.

Ren gulps, shakily standing by the door down to the basement. He opens it, calling out for Strade in a way that wouldn’t be too suspicious if the drugs didn’t knock him out.

He doesn't get an answer. Thank god. He bounds down the stairs, peeking around the corner. Strade is laying on the ground, back against the cabinets with eyes slightly open. Ren meets them, feeling the anger well up before they close.

He can start now. Perfect.

…

It takes a few hours for Strade to wake up, already nearing dusk by the time he opens his eyes.

Ren tries to relax and focus on the man at his feet. He’s bound with a sturdy rope to the metal pole towards the back of the room. There is a thick cloth shoved into his mouth, the excess of which is tied behind his head. He doesn't want to hear him talk.

Strade moves his legs against the floor, groggy from sleep. His eyes blink furiously when he tries to rub at them, only to find that he can’t.

“Good evening, Strade. Did you sleep well?”

“Mhhn- HM?!” Strade looks down at his gag in surprise. He didn’t notice it. He looks up.

Strade realizing his predicament sends a deep feeling shooting through his eyes like a bullet. It's fear. Ren knows the signs too well. He's been on the receiving end of this sort of treatment for over 3 years.

But, he's never seen it in Strade's. It looks out of place there. The dark caramel is better suited for giddiness and arousal. Fear and pain are better for his orange ones, Ren thinks. He isn't cut out for this.

Ren thinks to himself for awhile, letting Strade try to remove his ropes and get his gag out of his mouth. He only stops when Ren moves closer, stopping dead with a glare. ‘If Strade is tied up down here, what’s keeping me from leaving?’ The answer flickers at the back of his mind and he smiles wide, obviously unsettling Strade.

He falls into a crouch, reaching for and into the front pocket of Strade's cargo pants. He's thrashing, trying to remove Ren's invasive fingers, but it's useless. It only makes him look more pathetic; his murderous gaze and set brows couldn't possibly make him scary when he's bound and gagged.

His claws clasp around something cold and metallic. Perfect. Ren's seen him pull this out of this exact pocket so many times -- too many times -- that it would be amazing if he _didn't_ notice it.

When he pulls his hand out, a small metal remote lay in his palm. He eyes it over with an endearing smile and flips it around to show Strade. He knew what was happening the minute Ren went for his pockets, but his eyes still go wide when he sees it. And what a beautiful sight it is. He looks so _betrayed._

Ren waves the remote in front of him teasingly. The mouse got the cheese and trapped the cat in the process. Ren giggles. It's such a rush!

“Sooo, I'm going to take this,” Ren taps his collar with his index finger, “off, then I'll take off your gag. That sound good?” Strade exhales heavily through his nose and twists his feet in a way that screams ‘absolutely not.’ Good.

He flicks the button at the bottom of the remote then drops it to the ground. The collar makes a loud beep, then his hands move to remove it and toss it out of reach. It hits the concrete with a solid ‘clang’ and Ren relaxes with the sound. Casting away the restriction that Strade has kept on him for years, Ren's tail falls in happiness. It feels weird, but so, so nice.

His fingers play over the purple and blue skin made by the metal gently. Pressing too hard hurts a lot but the soft, wavering touches feel wonderful. Ren purrs when he grazes the deepest bruise, toes curling. It feels _very_ good.

Ren looks down from his standing spot over Strade. There is a red flush present on his cheeks, neck, and ears. Strade must notice the heat because he tucks his head down against his shoulder. Ren smiles at his discomfort. He doesn't think he's ever seen Strade embarrassed. He's seen him aroused of course, which Ren's sure is the reason why he's embarrassed, but he's shocked to see this reaction. Ren kneels down to Strade's level and tilts his head to look at his hidden face.

He gets in close, almost to the point that he's sitting in Strade's lap, and bring his hands up to lift Strade's face. It doesn't move willingly, so Ren actually does settle himself atop Strade's thighs in hope of leverage. Ren dislodges his head from it's tucked position and, when he does, he thrashes, tugging on the rope fervently. The action makes Ren sigh, fingers  

“I’m not going to kill you. I love you too much to ever do that.” Strade doesn’t calm at his words, but instead tugs harder, jerks his legs, jostling Ren’s weight in his lap. Ren frowns. “Stop that.” Surprisingly, Strade does stop tugging. Ren supposes he isn’t in much of a position to deny. He still doesn't look very happy, but he has stopped. He's willing to listen to orders. That's good to know. That’s hose should go over better than meek suggestions. Ren's never been on this side of things before. It's exhilarating.

He gets a little closer, chest pressing to Strade's, examining a little more.

“I did promise,” Ren mutters to himself. His deft, clawed fingers move and start to pick away at the knot on the back of his head, against the greasy waves. The cloth gives way and falls into his hands. He holds it tightly and looks up into Strade's eyes.

The other doesn't say anything, but he doesn't really have to. His features tell Ren everything he needs to know. If Strade were to be freed, Ren would be in another whole world of hurt.

Ren tosses the cloth off somewhere to their sides. It doesn't matter where. Their eyes reconnect.

“Ren.” The word cuts through Ren like a knife, slicing him open and spilling his precious blood. “You are going to untie me _now_ and then _maybe_ I won't kill you.” This doesn’t affect Ren, considering that his butt is still firmly planted in Strade's lap. Left without care for his safety, he feels free. The most dangerous thing in this room is bound to a pole with twine. He's not the trapped one. And he'd like to keep it that way.

“I don't think I will.” Ren jumps at the actual _growl_  that leaves Strade. His claws dig deep into the set of shoulders in front of him, feeling pinpricks of blood well up under his nails. Even with how pathetic he looks bound, he's terrifying.

Ren purrs to calm both himself and Strade, tail dragging behind him. “Isn’t this what you wanted? For me to take charge of the situation? For me to be like you?” Strade stirs as Ren scrubs both of his hands through his hair and holds on, yanking his head around to meet their eyes.

The look, the emotion, in Strade's eyes tells Ren what he needs to know. He's intrigued. His little fox who used to cry after getting scolded, who used to avoid any conflict that came at him, is now making an attempt to take charge. Deep down, Ren knows Strade is proud of how far he's come in the past few years under his care. He will, for some sick reason, sit and take what Ren will give him because _he_ got Strade in this position. Strade is still the leader here, no doubt but he's giving up a little power now to make Ren feel like he's worthwhile.

Which is bittersweet to say the absolute least.

But, contrary to the sight Ren can brightly observe, Strade answers with an amused chuckle. “Let's see what kind of mayhem you bring, fox.” The nickname is spat out sourly, contempt dripping from the syllable.

“Let us see, indeed.” Ren releases Strade’s head, letting it move freely.“But, to start off. You should eat something.”

Ren walks over to the counter where a large, white ceramic plate piled with food sits. He picks it up and brings it to Strade. The plate is chilled from the basement air and the food is lukewarm. Ren doesn't really feel like running upstairs and reheating it if it isn't necessary. And it's just leftover chicken and pasta from last night, so it really isn't.

Strade's nose scrunches up at the sight of the food. He seems to piece two-and-two together. “Did you drug this one too?”

Ren is shocked but doesn't let it show. He shakes his head. “Nope. I want you conscious.” Strade rolls his eyes. That's his line. “I can trust you to eat it by yourself, can’t I?” Ren waves a fork in front of Strade.

“I don’t know, can you?” Ren frowns, unpleased. “Only kidding, give it here.” He acquiesces, albeit apprehensively, setting the meal and utensil before him and leaning down to release his bindings. But he only releases one of Strade’s arms, leaving the other tied neatly against the cool metal.

“There.” Ren moves back, still standing.

“Only one?” Strade flexes it to bring back the blood then reaches down for his fork, holding it awkwardly. “Damn. My non-dominant one too? You wound me, Liebling.” The fact that he didn’t notice that immediately makes Ren snort.

“I don't want you to have any ideas.”

Strade motions to his other arm with his head. “I can't do much with one arm, regardless of whether it's my dominant one or not.” Ren… guesses that's true. He's still tied up. If he stays far enough away, it shouldn't be a problem. How much damage could Strade do with a fork? It can't be much.

“Do you want me to switch your hands?”

“I do.” Ren's surprised Strade's isn't fighting him. Maybe he's realized that being polite to Ren will make this finish faster, which is partially true, and obeying will be better for him. He also might just be humoring Ren. Like when a parent sits through a child's exorbitant ideas and they smile and nod. The mere idea of that being the case makes Ren's tail tighten in anger.

He stamps over and leans down, muttering a quick reminder for Strade to not try anything as he unties his arm. He doesn't, much to Ren's surprise. He just picks his fork up, then digs in. He must enjoy it because he finishes rather quickly.

Ren grabs the plate and fork from where Strade sets them beside himself. He’s being surprisingly obedient for the placement he’s in. _Maybe_ _it’s_ _a_ _tactic._ Ren’s mind screams. A cheap ploy to gain Ren’s trust. To get him close. Ren shakes his head to clear it of the jumble. While Strade may be a natural born killer, he was never gifted in the art of strategy. Not like Ren was. Ren’s the one in power here, not him.  _There is nothing he can do to hurt you._

Eventually, and without Ren’s perception of the event, the dish is laid on the empty counter. For Ren to clean up later.

“I guess we'll get started then since you're done.”

“You don't sound so sure of yourself there.” Ren whips his head around to stare down Strade. “What?” He has a light chuckle to his words as he shugs dramatically. Well, as dramatically as the ropes will allow. “You don't.”

“I've never done this. And you're a pro. Of course, I'm gonna be nervous.”

“I'll give you tips if you'd like, dear.” He grins endearingly. “Tell you the ways you can get me to scream. Or cry. Whichever you prefer.”

“You'd bring about your own undoing?”

“Eh, to be honest. It was going to happen sooner or later.” Ren's not sure if his words apply to the situation he finds himself in now, or that he really thinks he'll be the catalyst of a future downfall. Maybe both.

Ren finds himself thinking about actually taking Strade up on his offer. Letting him show Ren how to hold a specific tool or how to twist the blade just so to cause a skyrocket of agony and grief. But, he doesn’t. He wants to learn all by himself. And if his new toy ends up with some bruises and scratches because of that, then so be it.

He reaches out for Strade's arm, ready to tie it back against the pole. Strade doesn't let him grab, but he does twist and lay it behind himself in an easy to bind position. What a surprise. Ren does so, making the knot tight and study.

His bouncing around the room surely shows Strade just how nervous he is. The fidgeting and uncertainty of it all. He should have planned this better.

But, that doesn't stop him from admiring all of the tools splayed across the counter and Strade's workbench. Some are ones he took out himself, some were left out after Strade's previous kidnapping, rape, and murder.

“You have so many pretty tools in here that you never use.” Ren looks back to Strade from his spot by the counter, clawed digits perusing the selection of tools. They land on something tame for the sheer amount of potential mutilation in this room. A screwdriver.

Flashing the cool metal at Strade, Ren enjoys the flash of disbelief and humor that runs across Strade's features. It's not lethal -- not in the way Ren plans to use it anyways. He's not going to kill Strade, nor disfigure him. Even if the tool feels nice in his palm. “Not the best choice out of everything I'll admit, but I don't think you're familiar with this, are you?”

“I'm better acquainted with its electric counterpart.” Strade smiles, pushing himself up the pole for a better view. “It's more fun.”

Ren flips the screwdriver in his grip and reaches out with his other hand for the wireless drill, removing it from its charging block. He holds the trigger down for a second to hear the whirring of the drill bit, to feel the quake against him, and shivers in delight. This is surely deserving of its place in Strade's favorite weapons; his hunting knife holds first place tightly.

“I don't like it much.” Ren sighs, laying it back where it belongs. “Too many brutal connotations.” Strade hums along with his words, agreeing. That's probably why he likes it so much.

Ren presses his face to Strade's neck while jamming the screwdriver into his shoulder forcefully. The object itself isn't enough to pierce his skin, even with Ren's force. But, it probably doesn't feel nice.

He feels Strade’s breath hitch under the pressure and Ren coos, happy. Power isn’t something he gets often, but it is _wonderful._  No wonder Strade loves this so much.

While the power of just implications is a very strong thing, Ren wants to make this more than a hope. He can make it more.

He drops the screwdriver to the ground, listening as it clatters and beats against the cement, before pulling at the hilt of the blade attached to Strade's hip to unsheath it. Strade’s eyes go wide that the sight of sharp metal. He must’ve forgotten that he was wearing it.

“Fuchs, darling. You don't really want to do this.” Ren disagrees. Well, maybe not fully. He doesn't want to hurt Strade, but he needs to. Needs to understand what makes him tick, what makes him _Strade_. He also wants Strade to know that his ‘little fox’ is vindictive.

“Remember when you said that doing this makes people closer? Makes you know them better?” Strade tilts his head, confused by the sudden question, but nods regardless. “I'm doing that. You know me extremely well. It's time for me to get to know you. Your fears and anger and secrets.” Ren cuddles up against him even more, tail wrapping itself around Strade's knee.

“Is it scary to be on the receiving end?” Ren asks, pointed canines peeking out from his lips in a grin. “I think it is. Is it like that for you too?”  

“I'll admit that I'm not a fan of the uncertainty, but it's not scary.”

That...wasn’t the answer he was looking for. Or wanted. He wanted Strade to be fearful of him, but Ren supposes that was too much to ask. Strade is very familiar with both Ren and his knife. The fact that it’s Ren holding it instead of him doesn’t make much of a difference.

He hopes this can change something, though.

Ren smiles, listening happily to the pained hiss that slips through Strade's lips as he drags the knife slowly through his arm. It feels like a fire, licking at every inch of skin torn up by the steady blade. Ren might know that feeling better than anything else in the world. It would be sobering if it didn't have such painful aftermath. Stitches were never fun to receive. He wonders how much fun they'll be to give. Slipping a small curved needle, dripping with black thread, under his tan flesh and tugging until the sensitive muscle and nerve-riddled skin is tucked away again.

He should do that. When he gets up from his position, his tail thrashes, thrilled with his idea.

Ren stretches up for the first aid kit from the shelf, catching it in his arms after batting it down. He's never been tall enough to reach it properly. He feels like Strade purposely puts it up here for that reason.

He recrosses the room, setting the red box on the floor before he allows himself to fall beside it. Strade watches on, Ren's sure movements making him quiet.

He threads the needle after bumbling around with the supplies. He's giddy; happy that he's getting to do this for Strade. To Strade.

Pressing the thin tool against the edge of the laceration, Ren quickly slips it under and into the fresh skin. Strade doesn't cringe with pain much; it only happens when he first inserts the needle, when he tugs it closed, and when he ties the knot to finish.

Ren dresses the wound with a simple layer of gauze. He’ll do it properly when he decides to free him.

“How are the bindings?” The second Ren says that Strade's gaze turns as cold as steel. Oh. _Oh_. Ren smiles sadistically. “Aw, what's wrong Strade? Do you not like the ropes?”

“Shut up.” Strade belts out furiously.

“I could bring something else. Like the chains or the barbed wire, you keep in storage.” Strade stays quiet after that like he thinks Ren will actually do that. And he would don’t get him wrong. Just not the razor wire; that was for the shock.

But that gave him the reaction he was hoping for, so he drops it for now.

It's getting late. Strade probably won't be able to handle much more. Maybe he could and Ren is just projecting. But, this feels like a natural stopping point. 

Ren allows his thoughts to wander slightly, eyes resting on his discarded collar while he walks to the stairs. He thinks about how it would be if Strade wore it. Serving Ren’s every wish and obeying his every command just so he wouldn’t get shocked. It’s exciting to think about, but impractical. One, that collar would, by no means, fit around Strade’s thick neck. Two, Ren would have to do all the work, and he’s pretty content letting Strade do that.

But, it's nice to entertain.

He steps quickly into the living room and removes a large, thick mass of fabric off the back of the couch. It's one of the warmest blankets in Strade's house, huge and hand-knitted with brown wool. Ren isn't allowed to take it out of the living room, so he wonders how Strade will react to its movement.

It takes a bit of effort to get the door into the basement open again. The weight combined with the miles of the blanket he holds in his arm doesn’t make it easier. But, he’s still able to open it and walk down the stairs without looking like too much of an idiot. Even if no one’s watching. It probably sent a thump of fear through Strade’s heart, the sound of the door opening and closing again. Because he doesn't know that Ren was joking about finding something stronger to bind him with.

Ren reaches the bottom of the stairs and whips his eyes over to Strade, the thick blanket covering the majority of his upper chest and lower face. Their gazes meet, Strade's filled with relief and anger, Ren's filled with glee and uncertainty. It makes quite the medley, the juxtaposition thick.

He dumps the mess of heavy yarn on top of Strade, tucking it around his neck. That should fix the temperature problem even if Ren doesn't plan to leave him down here for long. He only wants to give Strade some time to rest. Regardless of the fact that its Strade, something like this has to be stressful. Any form of control wasn't something Strade gave up willingly.

Strade says nothing as Ren walks back to the stairs and goes up. He grips the solid metal handle and yanks the door open, letting it fall back into place with a solid _thump_.

He peeks into the kitchen to look at the time of the clock. It's nearing 3 A.M. Wow, it's so much later than he expected. He yawns deep from his chest and climbs up the stairs to his room.

Ren sinks into his nest of clothing and blankets, pressing his face against one of the comfy walls. He can't wait to see what tomorrow will bring for him and Strade.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh shit this took way too long for me to put out and I’m so sorry about that! I kinda fell out of the fandom, but I’m back in full throttle!! Enjoy!

Ren wakes up sometime around around 11. He twists and turns in his little pile of soft things, not wanting to get up and move around. 

_ Strade is still downstairs.  _

The thought pierces through Ren’s mind like a bullet, and it makes him shoot up and run downstairs. 

He checks around the entire house — Strade’s room, all of the bathrooms, the laundry room, the living room — and doesn’t find him. 

Ren slumps down in front of the refrigerator and sighs.  _ Oh, fuck. What have I gotten myself into.  _ He shakes his head. He can do this. 

He stands up and starts working on making breakfast. He grabs lots of stuff from the fridge and turns on the stove. 

Ren doesn’t make anything for himself — he never eats breakfast if he woke up late. He’s making this for Strade. 

He hopes it’ll be sort of peace offering.

When he looks at his work, he smiles proudly. It looks delicious. Eggs, french toast, and sausages. It’s more to Strade’s liking than his. Despite his more predatory instincts, he isn’t a fan of meat in the morning.  

Ren picks up the warm plate with one hand and shoves the bottle under his arm, leaving his other free to open the door down to the basement. A wave of anxiety floods through his chest.  _ What if Strade got free? What if he's waiting down there? What if this was the last straw? _

But, he shakes those thoughts away from his mind. He's confident in his skills with a rope.

His walk down the stairs is a little treacherous with the flat ceramic balanced in his palm. Once he gets down the stairs, he flicks on the light switch and looks over. 

Strade's still asleep, blanket slung around his hips. His mouth is almost fully open, a tiny bit of drool dripping down his chin. Ren walks over, sets the plate on the floor, and runs a hand through Strade's hair. It's rare that he can see Strade sleep like this. So soundly, so restricted. 

Ren leans down to look at his wrists, still contained in their twine prison. They look… rough. His wrists and forearms are burned from the rope. He's been pulling on them without much reservation. He's even bleeding a little.

But, they did hold out the entire night which Ren is grateful for. 

He grips and shakes Strade's shoulder roughly. His eyes open, lids fluttering from the light of the basement. 

It takes a second for Strade to realize where he is and what is going on. When he does, he stares up at Ren, the threat of killing Ren looming in his eyes. He yanks hard on the ropes. 

“If you keep looking at me like that, I'll throw away your breakfast.” Ren runs the plate under Strade's nose, letting him smell the food. He almost shoots up from his hunched over position, awakened by the scent.

“What time is it?” Strade asks, voice still thick with sleep. 

“Is that important?” Ren replies. 

“Not really.” Ren knows he’s lying. Strade has ever liked to be discombobulated. He likes knowing things. The time, the weather, and all sorts of other things. Strade reads a lot as well. Lots of newspapers.  _ Who reads those anymore?  _

Putting aside the memories of him trying to convince Strade that using his phone to check the news was  _ sooo _ much easier, Ren focuses in front of him. His eyes are drawn back to the study rope knitted around Strade’s arms. Ren sees the worn skin of Strade’s wrists peek out, but decides not to remove the ropes. 

He sets the plate in his lap and and piles food onto a fork. Strade’s brows lower in questioning. “I was good yesterday, yet you won't untie me?” 

Ren motions to Strade's arms, red and raw. Sure, yesterday was nice and Strade did what he was told. But, that was yesterday. Today is a different day, a different mood. The marks show that pretty well. Luckily, Strade seems to understand Ren's thoughts because he doesn't push anymore. 

He eats his breakfast from the fork that Ren holds out to him. Slowly but surely, Strade finishes his meal.

Ren gets up and  sets the empty plate on the counter, atop the one he forgot to bring up yesterday after their session. 

He hears a soft, pained noise from behind him and whips around to look at Strade. He's moving his arms, probably trying to relieve the pressure on the rope burn across his wrists. Ren pouts in empathy, knowing firsthand how badly that feels.

“Does it hurt?” Strade's eyes shoot up to Ren, moving a bit more urgently. Ren walks back over to Strade and kneels down to his side, fingers grazing over the red and worn skin. Strade winces, shutting his eyes tight.

“It's annoying.” Strade huffs, voice strained with pain. It's an intonation that Ren has never heard from him. It sounds lovely.

“I’m sorry.” Ren apologizes, reaching out for the first aid box he left against the wall. “That must hurt so much. I didn't mean for that.” He flicks open the box and looks over the basic paraphernalia. Ren shifts himself back into Strade's lap and starts to unbutton his green shirt. Strade looks between Ren and his shirt with curiosity and confusion. 

He fully undoes and yanks the fabric down Strade's arms as far as it will go, fully exposing his badly bandaged cut from last night. The jostling must have rubbed Strade's wrist again because he emits a clipped gasp.

Ren curls his fingers just under the cut, waiting a few seconds before he removes the gauze. 

The stitching is uneven, the edges are red and irritated, and it looks like it might get infected if he does nothing about it. Which he doesn't intend to do. He's going to help.

He rummages through the mess of gauze he left yesterday and pulls out a bottle. “Stay still.” It's not much of a demand, more of a beg. Strade obeys all the same.

He sprays a good amount of the antiseptic liquid on Strade's cut and lays a fresh piece of gauze against it. He connects it to the skin with a long, thin bandage. The fact that he doesn’t wince in pain at the antiseptic makes him sigh hopefully. It wasn’t on the verge of infection. 

“I'm going to fix your wrists now, and if you're good, I'll toss the ropes,” Ren says while he rattles through the medical kit, pulling out what he'll need to fix Strade's worn wrists.

Once everything is laid out on the floor beside him, Ren tears at the knot with his claws and the rope fall against the ground with a quiet heft. 

Strade stays still while Ren coats a wide swath of cotton fabric with disinfectant. He cautiously runs over Strade's inner arm with the peroxide-soaked cloth, cringing when Strade hisses in pain. It's a new wound, so it's tender. He finishes fast, not wanting Strade to be in any amount of pain for any amount of time. He's feeling generous and regretful today. 

He carefully wraps gauze around the rope burn and holds it together with a strip of surgical adhesive tape. Ren looks around at his job, lifting Strade's arms and moving his wrists, checking for gaps in the stark bandaging. He doesn't find any. He's done this too many times to himself to make a mistake. Remembering those times makes him seeth. 

But, Ren quickly forgets his anger with Strade's earlier actions, lifting the bandaged arms to his lips and giving a small kiss to each. He then lets them fall to Strade's sides. 

It's nice being able to do these things to Strade. He wouldn't be able to any other time. Well, maybe if Strade was drunk. There had been many a time where Ren tucked himself under Strade's arm after he passed out on the couch. 

Oh, how he wishes that they could be normal. And  _ happy _ .

But that could never, ever happen.

“Feel better?” Strade doesn't answer, deciding to turn his head away instead. Ren understands that. He doesn't want to talk. That's okay. Ren won't make him.

He wraps the ropes around his arms, the upper portion of them this time. These could only to hold him in place temporarily. They could easily be broken out of, but Strade doesn't make a move to. After the way he was tugging, Ren's shocked. These past two days have been a rollercoaster of contradictions and surprises.

For no reason at all, Ren sinks back down into Strade’s lap. He enjoys sitting here with his head resting on Strade’s shoulder. Content with his current standings: everything is good right now. 

He nearly falls asleep on his lap, until he feels something under his hips. 

The movement is so small that Ren almost doesn't notice it. In this situation, it could have meant a number of things. If Strade was still fighting with him, he would have thought it was a futile attempt to take back power. But, he's not. He stopped fighting it. That aborted buck meant something more. 

He rolls his hips down and back, feeling Strade under him.

Strade’s arms flex against the loose-fitting rope and his eyes meet Ren's. Ren's tongue peeks from his mouth, sharp fangs applying slight pressure as he moves again. 

It relaxes Strade, for some reason. The roll of his hips and his presence probably bring back some nostalgia. Of times where Ren was willing, which didn’t happen often, to do these things with Strade. Ren isn’t showing up as a threat on Strade’s radar at the moment. 

Good.

Him slipping his shorts down onto one leg and pulling Strade’s dick free from his cargo pants passes in some sort of haze. Ren doesn’t remember how he manages to position himself, hand wet with saliva holding Strade upright so he can sink down.

It burns when he falls. But, he’s used to Strade not preparing him before he fucks him, so it doesn’t hurt too bad. His insides giving way to Strade still feels gorgeous. Ren’s always been so stunned that Strade can get inside him, be it with his knife or his cock. 

Strade knocks his head against the pole behind him, fingers tightening against the ropes. Ren smiles and squeezes his shoulder until a moan slips from Strade’s lips. It’s a wonderful sound; deep,low and quiet. His claws pierce tan skin with an ease that makes Ren  _ very _ happy _.  _

Ren can feel Strade’s strong thrust in his guts, stirring them up and making him whine. He can’t remember the last time it felt this good. A day where Strade was in a  _ very  _ good mood, surely. 

Ren panics for a moment when he feels Strade's hand on his hip.  _ He must have gotten free from the ropes. _ All of his muscles tense and Strade moans. His other fits against Ren's right hip and holds tight. He's helping with Ren's motions. He's accepting this.  _ He isn’t gonna hurt me _ .

Ren’s head drops like lead onto Strade's shoulder, panting heavily with exertion and relief, happy that he doesn’t need to do the work anymore.

It shouldn't feel good, but it  _ does _ . Strade pushes moans out of him, and Ren digs deep trenches into his back accordingly. 

A few thrusts later and Ren is coming, easily due to Strade movement, without even being touched. The jittery feeling running through Ren’s veins crash against the nervousness and fear to create something new. Something that Ren hasn’t felt in a long time.  _ Bliss _

He feels the wet of Strade’s release fill him, then Strade collapses under Ren, against the pole. They pant, regaining their breath from the experience. It was mind blowing, getting to control Strade in that way as well. Even when Strade ‘took charge’, Ren still felt like it was his game to play.

Ren keeps them there for a little longer, until Strade starts to go soft inside him. He lifts his hips and lets Strade’s cock free. 

Nails pull themselves from thick muscles with a slight ripping sound. Ren scoots back and slips Strade back into his pants. He pulls his pants up from his ankle, knowing that they’ll definitely need to be washed. 

“You are never doing that again, understand?” Strade says after Ren settles.

“I know.”

“You're lucky that I'm not going to tie you up here forever.”

“I know.”

“And that-”

“Strade, I got it.” Ren lays a small kiss under Strade's chin, just under his scar. Still in his afterglow. “I won't.”

Ren's shocked that Strade didn't fucking slap him for that. 

Strade stands up, pushing Ren out of his lap and onto the floor. When he hits the ground, his shiver isn't just from the cold. He's on the verge of tears, looking at him wide-eyed like a kicked dog. His ears lie flat against his hair and his tail tucks beside his knees. 

He reaches up for Strade, like a child reaching for one of its parents. It’s pathetic. Both Ren and he know that, but Ren doesn’t stop. His fingers close into a fist a few times before Strade rolls his eyes and scoffs, leaning down for Ren to hold onto. 

“You’re such a whiny baby,” Strade mutters coldly, bringing a hand to Ren’s ears and pushing them forward so they stand. “Even after that stunt.”

“I. I’m sorry.” Ren cries, shaking his head back and forth on Strade’s shoulder. This was inevitable. What did Ren think was going to happen? Did he think Strade would ever submit to him? Ha! That’s stupid; why would he think that?

Strade doesn’t comfort him and, somehow, that hurts worse than the scars he’s been given. Ren does look up at his lack of words, hoping to coerce him to speak. 

“You're putting your collar back on.” That’s... Ren's head drops. He whines into Strade's other shoulder, fingers tugging at the light green, bloodstained fabric. He doesn't want to wear it again. Why does he have to wear it again?

“...no…” Ren whispers. If he were not right against Strade, he would have no idea that he even moved his lips. Their proximity allows more that Ren hoped for. But, this is Strade. Strade can easily predict what Ren will do in most situations. He knows Ren is unhappy. And that he defied him. 

Strade reaches down and pulls Ren to face him. Ren closes his eyes, bearing himself for the inevitability of pain. When it doesn’t come, Ren lets himself open his eyes to look at Strade’s smiling face. It isn’t sadistic, but it’s not wholesome. It’s  _ convincing _ . 

“Sweetheart,” He mumbles, grazing Ren’s face with his rough thumbs, wiping away the tears. “Do as I ask, please? Listen to me and everything will be alright.” His voice is saccharine and loving. Ren believes him, bobbing his head up and down in obedience. “Bring me your collar, sweet one.” His smile is lopsided when he removes himself from Strade to reach for his discarded collar.

The metal feels unnaturally heavy. Maybe it was because he was already unused to wearing such a device, maybe because of the implications. 

Strade holds his hands out for it, no doubt wanting to put it on the fox himself. Ren hands it over, watching as Strade examines it. “Looks like it’s still fully intact. I thought you had broken it at first.” Ren bobs his head solemnly, eyes locked on the ground. 

He walks a little closer to Ren, ends of the collar in hand, bringing them up to his neck. Before Strade has a chance to clasp it shut, Ren starts shaking. “Why?” His word stops Strade who drops his forearms against Ren’s shoulders. 

“By this point, you should know why.” 

Ren’s quiet for a minute, unanswering. And, just as Strade reaches to connect the lock, he speaks meekly. “I didn’t though.” Strade sighs, annoyed by the interruptions.

“What didn’t you do?” Ren relaxes, slightly happy that Strade is allowing him to question without completely shutting him down by returning him to his prison. Though, he wouldn’t be surprised if Strade did it while he was talking. 

“I didn’t run away!” Ren says, quick and loud like he’s being threatened with something that looms darker over his head than his collar. “I...I stayed. I didn’t run away from you. I could have. But, I didn’t.” 

Strade seems perplexed. Like he didn’t even consider the possibility that Ren could have dashed off and left Strade tied up. Ren could have called the police, exposed Strade for the monster he truly was. Have him imprisoned and executed for all the souls he forcibly ripped from bodies. He could have let Strade rot down here like his victims.  _ But he didn’t _ . That sends Strade reeling. 

“I...hadn’t considered that. At all.” Strade stays quiet, fingers drumming against the thick metal. But, as expected from Ren, he moves to force the lock together. Ren tries to jerk away. “Don’t be afraid,  _ Fuchs _ . I just need a little time to think about this.” The two pieces of metal come together with a deep sound and a flash of red light from the tiny L.E.D on the front. 

Ren lets out a disconcerted yelp and grits his teeth. He wants to yell and scream. He wants to fight Strade on his decision. He wants Strade back in the compromising position he's been in for the past few days. But, he doesn’t argue. Whether he likes it or not, Strade’s back in charge. He just has to hope that Strade will take pity on him. But, he's not really known for his compassion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, feel free to request things!!!
> 
> tumblr: succculenthorror

**Author's Note:**

> That’s not all folks! More coming soon


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